


Keep Me Running

by caramelle



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Fluff, Gyms, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:07:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: That little condo gym is the one place Steve feels like he can finally tune out all the chaos of life, and get a quiet minute to himself.And then one day, the routine gets shaken up.Or, the one where Steve and Diana meet at the gym.





	Keep Me Running

**Author's Note:**

> because falling into another otp pit is JUST what i needed (gooOOOoood i can't believe i'm doing this)
> 
> OF COURSE it's gonna be a modern au, bcos that's where everyone is alive and well and happy
> 
>  
> 
> (title from 'Running' by Jessie Ware)

 

 

 

When Steve moves into his condo, it's really only for the perks.  

 

There's a huge pool right in the centre of the estate, along with an in-house sauna, an indoor court for squash, an outdoor one for tennis, and a bunch of other things he'll probably never have time to use but definitely appreciates _having_ around if he ever _does._

 

But, most importantly, it has a _gym._ One that's open to residents 24/7.

 

That last part is _vital._ Especially for someone like him, who works about eighty hours a week and barely has time to change his shirts, let alone visit public gyms.

 

Within two weeks of settling into his new place, he's got a nice little routine going.

 

He gets home around eight or nine P.M., grabs a quick bite to eat, gets some more work done while he's waiting for the food to go down, and then at around eleven, he laces up his shoes and heads to the gym, towel draped over one shoulder. He hits the machines, gets a nice sweat going, heads back to his condo for a quick shower and falls into bed, his limbs steeped in the pleasant ache of hard athletic use.

 

As far as routines go, he's _really_ happy with this one. There's never anyone else around by the time he shows up for his workout. He gets free access to _all_ the machines, without having to worry about skirting politely around someone else for fear of someone attempting to start some _neighbourly_ conversation.

 

That little gym is the one place he feels like he can finally tune out all the chaos of life, and get a quiet minute to _himself._  

 

And then one day, the routine gets shaken up.

 

He doesn't even notice her till she's on the treadmill next to his, legs already pumping in long, sure strides and a finger on the speed adjustment buttons.

 

His head whips back and forth in a sharp double take, feet almost tripping over one another in an awkward one-two step, struggling to maintain their pounding rhythm on the machine.

 

She glances sideways, her eyes flicking to him. It's completely cursory; they're back on the speed readout within a split second. All the while, her treadmill continues to speed up, the low whine faintly audible even through his earphones.

 

Once he's regained control of his rhythm, he chances a proper, _subtle_ look at her out of the corner of his eye.

 

She’s… she's _gorgeous._

 

She’s tall — can't be more than a couple inches off from his own height. Under her fitted tank and compression leggings, her tanned skin is warm, glowing golden even under the stark white fluorescent lights. She’s got her dark hair pulled back from her face, twined into a tight braid that sits securely on the back of her head, the few inches of the braid that extends out from her nape whipping between her shoulder blades as she runs.  

 

God. The _way_ she runs. Her limbs power forward at an unrelenting rhythm, her posture perfect and ramrod straight, her almond-shaped eyes set on some invisible point straight ahead.

 

He’s seen Olympic gold medallists with less purpose.

 

Dragging his eyes away from her, he sets them forward with stubborn determination, gritting his jaw as he focuses on his own workout. It's nothing to get ruffled up over. She'll probably be gone soon enough.

 

Except she's _not._

 

She's still going by the time he finishes off his usual four miles, arms and legs arcing in perfect harmony at an impressive pace. He slows his own machine down to a brisk walk, panting as he swipes at his towel to combat the sweat dripping into his eyes.

 

Fuck. From the look on her face, you'd think she'd just barely got _started_.

 

Abruptly, he decides to skip the walk, and hits the big red button on the control panel to stop the machine. He'll take his time doing his other exercises. She can't stay on that treadmill _forever._

 

And she _doesn't,_ much to his chagrin.

 

She's off the treadmill within the next five minutes, barely pausing for a quick swig from a water bottle before moving on to the rowing machine — the one right opposite the weighted squats one he's using. She keeps going, circulating round the room to do lat pulldowns and thigh clenches and what seems like a dozen other things.

 

Honestly, he _tries_ not to watch her. He knows what _he_ feels like when he can sense people watching him without any discernible rhyme or reason.

 

But it's just the two of them in that little gym, and she's _by far_ the most interesting thing in a roomful of inanimate machines and him. (He doesn't manage to see exactly how much she's benching, but it looks _unnervingly_ close to what he does on the regular.)

 

 _Okay, well, that could've gone a lot worse,_ he tells himself as they're stretching out at the end of their workouts. _At least she's not a talker._

 

She still doesn't say anything as they're gathering their things to go.

 

But she _does_ flash him a small smile when he pulls back to let her go ahead of him, one hand on the door to hold it open for her.

 

 _Huh,_ he thinks, flicking the lights off with his free hand. _Definitely could have gone a lot worse._

 

 

* * *

 

 

She's back again the next day.

 

He tries not to think about the unnameable emotion rising up in his chest at the sight of her already on the treadmill next to his, clearly still warming up with a slow jog. She turns her head briefly when he steps up onto his own machine, her brows lifting with recognition as she gives him a quick nod before turning back to face forward, one finger steadily increasing the speed of her belt.

 

It's just _surprise,_ is what it is, he thinks as he starts up his own treadmill, resolutely ignoring the urge to sneak a second look. He's just _surprised_ to see her. That's all.

 

Her workout winds down right as he's in the middle of his last set of reps. She turns on her way out, flashing him another small smile right before slipping out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he hears her voice, he damn near falls back onto his ass.

 

A lot of that has to do with the fact that it happens right as he's mid-squat, with a hundred and eighty pounds propped across his shoulders.

 

A _significant_ amount of that also has to do with the fact that the first words he hears from her are _"You should use more butt"._

 

He rockets back up into an upright position, his jaw hanging open. She's standing a few feet away by the pulldown machine, with her water bottle in one hand and the other propped on her hip.

 

"I'm sorry?" he just manages to get out, brows sitting high on his forehead.

 

She pops the top back onto her water bottle, turning to give him an appraising look. "When you go down. You should use more butt." She gestures towards his legs. "Keeps the strain off your knees."

 

"More butt," he repeats slowly, adjusting his grip on the barbell. "As in—"

 

"Stick your butt out more," she clarifies readily.

 

He gapes at her. Her face is completely neutral. Serious.

 

"Okay," he mutters, planting his feet in preparation. Giving himself a quick mental countdown, he drops to a low crouch, letting his weight roll back onto his heels so that he can feel his butt sticking out accordingly, the seat of his workout shorts stretching over the curve of his ass. Gritting his teeth, he rolls back onto the balls of his feet, surging back up in a controlled rise.

 

He glances at her, hoping that the warm flush on his neck isn't as visible as it feels. "Like that?"

 

Her gaze is on his ass. But when he speaks, it flicks back up to his eyes. Neutral, _serious._ It's markedly different from the kind of attention he usually gets from females.

 

"Like that," she says lightly, before turning to move to the next machine.

 

He finishes out the set, highly aware of her movements even as he forces himself not to look at her. He's no stranger to being checked out, but he's getting the prickling sensation that that's _not_ what just happened here. It's like she'd been _considering_ him instead — figuring something out instead of admiring it superficially.

 

He gets done with his workout a few minutes before she does. Despite that, he lingers a little, pausing to drink from his own bottle and re-tie his shoelaces. (They were getting a _little_ loose. He could _feel_ it.)

 

"Oh, hey," he says as they're heading towards the exit. "Thanks again. For the advice."

 

Her lips curve in another smile — still small, but ever so slightly wider than usual. "You're welcome."

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, she turns up sans her usual water bottle.

 

She steps off the treadmill thirty minutes later, panting heavily as she pats the sweat from her forehead with a small towel. She stops abruptly, looking at him in surprise when he holds his own bottle out to her.

 

He shifts nonchalantly from one foot to the other as she brings the bottle to her lips. He definitely _doesn't_ watch the light bounce off the light sheen of sweat on the graceful expanse of her neck, exposed when she tips her head back to drink.

 

She wipes her mouth off on her towel, her lips curving in a smile as she hands the bottle back to him. "Thanks."

 

"No problem," he says breezily.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two nights later, she offers to spot him while he does his bench presses.

 

He thinks it's only polite to return the favour the night after that.

 

The next week, he fucks up his wrist a little at work. It's nothing major; everything still _works_ okay. All the same, she shows him a different bicep workout he can do to minimise the pressure on his wrist.

 

Once his wrist gets better, he challenges her to a mini planking competition, each of them taking up one end of the lone yoga mat hung up against the gym wall. (They call it a draw, but only because they're both too distracted with laughing at each other's lame attempts at trash talk to keep going.)

 

He starts looking forward to the gym a hell of a lot more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

And then one night, she doesn't show.

 

It's the weirdest fucking thing, running with nothing but empty space to his left. It's like he's become irreversibly accustomed to her presence after just a few weeks, unable to recall what it was like to go through the motions on his own, without having the sound of his footsteps padded by the sound of hers.

 

Figuring that maybe she's just running late, he goes through with the rest of his workout, but he catches himself glancing towards the exit every ten seconds, expecting to see a familiar half-smirk pushing confidently through the door at any moment.

 

She never shows up.

 

He sinks into bed an hour later, the ache in his limbs lacking the familiar undercurrent of satisfaction.

 

It takes him longer to fall asleep than it has in a good long while.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Evening, boss!"

 

He smiles wearily, raising a hand to wave at Sameer. The condominium estate hires three different guards throughout the daytime, but for the graveyard shift, Sameer's the one and only.

 

"Evening, Sameer," he says, stopping to prop an elbow on the window of the tiny guardhouse. "How's it looking tonight?"

 

"Rough and ragged," Sameer answers cheerily, waving his flashlight about unconcernedly. "It's a riot out there, Steve! Blood in the streets!"

 

He fights off a chuckle, rubbing his nose in an attempt to hide his grin. "Yes, I can see that," he says, pointedly glancing around the quiet estate. "Well, you let me know if there's anything I can do to help, all right?"

 

"You got it, boss," Sameer says, with a pert salute. "Remember — if you see something, say something!"

 

He allows himself a dry laugh, pushing away from the window to head in. "I will, buddy."

 

And then he stops, a sudden thought striking him. He pivots on his heel abruptly, turning back to the booth.

 

"Hey, Sameer," he says, keeping his tone as nonchalant as he can, "you wouldn't happen to have seen— er—"

 

Fuck. _Fuck._

 

He doesn't actually know her _name._

 

Sameer's eyebrows are lifted high with expectant curiosity. "A… what?"

 

Steve pauses, and then shakes his head. Probably not a good idea for him, a single man living alone, to make a habit of going around asking condominium employees about other residents' whereabouts, anyway.

 

"Uh, never mind. It's nothing." He feigns an easy smile, turning to head in. "See ya, buddy."

 

She doesn't show up that night, either. He gives up barely halfway into his workout, not even pausing to stretch before grabbing his stuff to head out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After two days of visiting the gym alone, he seriously considers just skipping it altogether.

 

In the end, it's really only force of habit that compels him to put on his workout gear and head out the door.

 

He gets through his warm-up and his four-mile run, and then he sits down for his bench presses. He probably should have waited longer than thirty seconds between hopping off the treadmill and getting underneath a hundred pounds of pure dead weight, but at this point, he honestly just isn't _thinking_ all that much, which is why he somehow ends up half-pinned beneath the barbell.

 

"Oh, crap," he wheezes, his arms pushing weakly at the barbell pressing down on his chest. "Not good. Not—"

 

All of a sudden, the bar lifts from his torso, his lungs sucking in air to shockingly full capacity.

 

A pair of large, familiar eyes peer down at him, perfectly arched brows knotted in concern. "Are you alright?"

 

He nearly chokes _again._

 

" _Hey_ ," he exclaims, springing up from the bench and just _barely_ missing ramming his forehead into the barbell resting above him. He scrambles to twist around, jaw dropping open. "Hey! You're— uh, you're here."

 

She steps back from the bench, the familiar half-smirk already on her face. "Where else would I be?"

 

 _Yeah,_ a small, wistful voice whispers in the back of his mind, _I wish I knew, too._

 

He shoves the thought aside, pulling up a wry smile instead. "Yeah, well, let me tell you, you've missed a lot around here."

 

She raises a brow, glancing around the very small, _very_ empty gym. "Have I?"

 

"Oh, yeah," he says, pointing to the adductor machine. "That thing, there? It was kinda squeaking a little last night."

 

The corners of her lips quirk upwards with amusement. " _Really_?"

 

"Oh, yeah," he says, throwing in a confident shrug. "Don't worry, though — I took care of it."

 

She actually _laughs_ then, shaking her head. "Well," she says, eyes crinkled, "that's very good to hear."

 

He huffs a small laugh of his own, running a hand through his hair a little self-consciously. He pauses, taking in her appearance properly. "Oh. Uh, interesting choice of attire." He flushes, yanking his hand out of his hair. "For the gym, I mean. Not that— uh, that it's to say, you look very—" He waves vaguely at her outfit. "It's— it's nice."

 

She glances down at her fitted turtleneck sweater and high-waisted pants, both of them simple but elegant in design. "Oh. Yeah, I wasn't actually planning on working out today."

 

His brows shoot up in surprise. "Oh." He pauses awkwardly. "Well, uh, what—"

 

"Actually, I just got back into town," she says, head cocked to one side. Her ponytail swishes over one shoulder with the movement, the dark tips of her hair pleasantly contrasted against the rich ruby of her sweater. "I was away over the last couple of days. For work."

 

For some reason, his shoulders sag with relief.

 

"Work," he repeats quickly, nodding. "Right, yeah, of course."

 

Her brows furrow slightly, like she's trying to work something out.

 

"It was kind of a last-minute thing," she adds after a beat, folding her arms over her middle. "I wanted to— I mean, I would have let you know if I—"

 

He shakes his head quickly. "No, no, please, I— it's totally fine."

 

Another pause. Their gazes catch.

 

He swallows. "Good trip?"

 

She squints in consideration. "Could have been better." She shrugs, her mouth curving with a small smile. "I mean, the hotel had a gym, but it just wasn't the same."

 

He laughs ruefully, gesturing around at their small condo gym, with their worn down machines and lone yoga mat hanging against the wall. "Oh, yeah. Gonna be a tall order to beat _these_ heights of luxury."

 

She grins, her gaze settling on his. "You know what they say. No place like home."

 

Okay. He's _really_ not sure what the fuck's going on with his chest right now. Maybe it's some kind of lasting damage from the barbell.

 

Whatever it is that's happening, it feels warm, and kind of fuzzy, and _good,_ and you know what? He's just going to run with it.

 

"I'm Steve," he says suddenly, standing from the bench. He takes one step towards her, hand extended. "Steve Trevor."

 

She takes his hand in hers, letting her fingers curl warmly around his. "Diana Prince."

 

He smiles, letting himself enjoy the feeling of her hand in his for as long as he can. "Well, Diana Prince. What would you say about getting out of here for a nightcap or two?"

 

She grins, her hand tightening reflexively over his. "I'd say my place sounds good."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments would be much appreciated! would love to know what you think =)
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](http://mellamymake.tumblr.com)!


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